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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23790772">Army</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackSky83/pseuds/BlackSky83'>BlackSky83</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(It's Harry's army now), BAMF Dumbledore's Army, Battle of Hogwarts, Child Soldiers, Friendship, Gen, General Harry Potter, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loyalty, Podfic Available, Room of Requirement, Trust, War</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:21:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,085</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23790772</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackSky83/pseuds/BlackSky83</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not the story of a prophecy. This is not the story of a child that had to grow up too fast, the hope the magical world falling on his shoulders. </p><p>No. This is the story of the children that were forced to turn into soldiers. Of the army that was born under enchanted ceilings and dark hallways. Of the laughter that turned into heavy silence, and the silence that turned into a terrifying wait.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cho Chang &amp; Marietta Edgecombe, Dumbledore's Army &amp; Harry Potter, Hermione Granger &amp; Harry Potter &amp; Ron Weasley, Lavender Brown &amp; Parvati Patil, Neville Longbottom &amp; Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom &amp; Luna Lovegood &amp; Ginny Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>348</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>5 Star HP Works, Favourite Harry Potter Fanfics, Platinum - HP</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Army</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hope you enjoy! </p><p>Beta: BabyGenius </p><p>All mistakes are mine.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>“The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him” </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>K Chesterton</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p>It started in fifth year. Young people gathered in an abandoned bar on the edges of Hogsmeade, their bodies congregating together in a hopeless quest to gather heat. Some skeptic, some excited.</p><p>“For our grades,” stated Hermione Granger, her back straight, her eyes serious.</p><p>(“To survive,” she murmured in the middle of the night, where no one but a scared, loyal red-head and young boy with a scar on his head and the weight of the world on his shoulders, could hear her.</p><p>Her back was bowed, the knowledge she had always held sacred now a load on her body.)</p><p>On both occasions they held her hands so tight their fingers whitened. Nevertheless, it was the only reason the words made it out of her mouth.</p>
<hr/><p>Spells whispered in abandoned classrooms, never more than five people because they could have been a group, they could have signed, but darkness still followed them in the hallways of the castle.</p><p>The castle that, for four years, had been their home. Where Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones hid beneath the covers, murmuring and laughing all night long. Where Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie MacMillan joined their heads together, theories and spells going out their mouths and falling on to their scrolls.</p><p>Where Anthony Goldstain had tried his first chocolate frog. Where Terry Boot had done his first spell. Where Micheal Corner had his first kiss.</p><p>Where Neville Longbottom spent long afternoons tending to his garden. Where Parvati Patil and Lavander Brown had held their hands together, barely containing their excitement for the words of an old divination professor.</p><p>They were children. Kids thrown into the middle of a war. Their general with green eyes and a peculiar scar on his forehead at the front of the army.</p><p>But this is not the story of a prophecy. This is not the story of a child that had to grow up too fast, the hope the magical world falling on his shoulders.</p><p>No. This is the story of the children that were forced to turn into soldiers. Of the army that was born under enchanted ceilings and dark hallways. Of the laughter that turned into heavy silence, and the silence that turned into a terrifying wait.</p><p>This is the story of those who chose to fight.</p>
<hr/><p>A house-elf, with his big ears and even bigger eyes, with the passion of freedom shining on his little body, returned some of what they had lost.</p><p>And the Room of Requirement became their <em>home.</em> Where loyal Hufflepuffs, wise Ravenclaws, and brave Gryffindors met. They practiced and practiced <em>and practiced</em> until the spells were engraved in their minds and hands, and the warmth of their Patronus sheltered their aching souls.</p><p>(And <em>oh... How perfect it could have been if the four houses had gathered under a roof, putting together all the great qualities that had created a magnificent castle.)</em></p><p>And Harry Potter, with his arms folded and his gentle eyes, thought,<em> this is worth fighting for.</em></p>
<hr/><p>For years, long after the blood had dried and the bodies were buried, their heads would still turn instinctively when their General entered a room. Their spines, unconsciously, would straighten, their hands would look for their wands, ready to fulfill any order.</p><p>“It’s unacceptable!” A veteran Auror would yell at Dean Thomas, after he abandoned Harry in the midst of a rain of spells. Potter had ended up in the hospital. All the hostages had been saved.</p><p>Harry had counted the enemies, the grip on his wand tightening with each one he saw. Still, he had turned his head, looking directly into Dean’s eyes.</p><p>“Save the hostages,” he had ordered. And Dean had saved them.</p><p>But he didn’t say a word throughout the reprimand. How could anyone explain what had been created behind those ancient walls?</p><p>Because Harry, with stable hands and a firm voice, had taught those who could not defend themselves. Because Harry was the first one to tell Neville Longbottom he could <em>do</em> more, he was worth <em>more</em>. He was the one to raise Cho Chang’s hand, a Patronus on the tip of her tongue, reminding her what it meant to <em>live</em>. The one who had always had a smile and a compliment when they finally <strong>tried</strong>.</p><p>Harry Potter was the young man who, in his fifth year, had stayed behind with the little ones, telling them fabulous stories about a school with dragons, flying brooms, special candy, and exciting classes. Stories where a pink toad with cats hadn’t yet invaded its walls and <em>flying</em> on a Hippogriff became <em>possible</em>.</p><p>Because the name <em>Harry Potter</em> would cease to be the unattainable legend of The-Boy-Who-Lived, and instead became <em>teacher, general, <strong>friend</strong></em>.</p><p>It was him who taught them to punch back twice as hard. And they, in exchange, gave him their trust and loyalty.</p><p>So Dean Thomas would not defend himself against his superiors when they demanded absolute obedience. But the next time Harry turned his head and asked him to move on, Dean did so without an ounce of doubt.</p><p>But that was the future. After Hogwarts was rebuilt over graves, after a dark year swept through England, after Albus Dumbledore fell from the Astronomy Tower. After children, excited and naïve, walked into the room that gave it all.</p>
<hr/><p>The adrenaline of doing the forbidden. Watching a wall full of rules and, with a smile, thinking “<em>I’m breaking them</em>”. Furtive glances in the Great Hall, hot galleons in their pockets, mysterious smirks on their lips.</p><p>It was a prank.</p><p>And then…</p><p>Then Harry gathered them, his lips firm, his shoulders dropped, and on the back of his hand the words “I must not tell lies” were permanently engraved.</p>
<hr/><p>Colin Creevey built his life on art. It began with drawings, crayons marking themselves over a white sheet. But it hadn’t been enough, he couldn’t quite capture what he wanted to show.</p><p>At five, his parents gave him a camera, and Colin’s world <em>shined</em>.</p><p>At eleven, magic turned <em>real</em> and the images on his camera could <em>move</em> and his life was <em>wonderful</em>.</p><p>In his fourth year, one arm around his brother, the other one holding his most precious possession, he took pictures that, in the future, would fill the history books, the museums, the memorials.</p><p>(Luna Lovegood destroying one of the practice dolls.</p><p>Lee Jordan fighting Katie Bell.</p><p>Zacharias Smith with an irritated look and Hermione Grange, with her wand on her hand, standing over him.</p><p>Ron Weasley and Padma Patil, planning their next route.</p><p>Harry Potter, his arms crossed with a stern gaze, his posture showing anger, control, and, above all, <em>power</em>.)</p><p>And all those photos that would never see further than a wallet, an album, a frame in the middle of a house.</p><p>(Angelina Johnson and Fred Weasley, holding hands, equally smiling, their foreheads touching.</p><p>Ginny Weasley and Alicia Spinnet, their cheeks dirty, their uniforms muddy, their brooms resting on their tired shoulders, both laughing at something unknown.</p><p>Anthony Goldstain and Susan Bones, immersed in a staring contest, their hands holding their faces, their legs crossed under them.</p><p>Padma and Parvati Patil, Fred and George Weasley, the four of them with their gazes upward, seeing four completely different Patronuses.</p><p>Ron Weasley, Hermine Granger, and Harry Potter, lying on one of the many mattresses in the room, their bodies intertwined, relaxed, all three asleep.</p>
<hr/><p>Cho Chang was a Ravenclaw. She was supposed to be wise, curious and <em>intelligent</em>. She knew her tears would not raise the dead, that an Avada Kedravra was permanent, that not even the broken heart of a young girl would be enough to bring Cedric Diggory back.</p><p>(Beautiful afternoons on their brooms, the world beneath their feet, their hands together, the wind muttering around them. And the world ceased to exist. And for her there was only <em>him</em> and for him there was only <em>her</em>.)</p><p>(And over the same court they had sworn eternal love, his body had appeared, cold, motionless, his eyes opened in eternal terror.)</p><p>So, yes, she knew the waterfalls that went down her cheeks daily would not make everything better.</p><p>(But she was young. And in every corner of the castle resided an old memory. <em>There was our first kiss. Behind that column we planned our future. Under that roof we laid down, our arms wrapped around the other, whispering our deepest secrets</em>.)</p><p>But she was <em>tired</em>. She didn’t want to live with the constant pain on her chest, didn’t want to feel the tears pile up with every memory, but her body just… didn’t seem to get the message.</p><p>The sympathetic glances became annoyed, the murmurs that followed her on the hallways were now mocking. But only Marietta Edgecome, her best friend, realized, for Cho's gaze was now always distant, living in a past stained with mourning and a future that would never happen.</p><p>And with absent steps, she arrived to and old and abandoned bar.</p><p>Where Hermione Grange stood, her gaze fierce, her shoulders tense. Where Ron Weasley <em>challenged </em>everyone with his eyes, his fists clenched. Where Harry Potter sat, his head bowed, and yet eyes shining with determination.</p><p>(And she signed. Harry, surprised and a bit incredulous, had whispered, “For Cedric?” And Cho…Cho couldn’t get mad, because Harry Potter didn’t know what it means to fight for himself. He didn’t know what it meant to <em>chose</em> saving yourself. No. Harry Potter had always fought someone else’s wars, he had always had to become <em>better</em> because the<strong> world</strong> needed him.</p><p>Cho smiled, shook her head and left.)</p><p>(The next day, all the layers of make-up she had avoided were once again covering her skin. Because Cho…Cho had lost the person she loved most and, in a way, had lost herself.)</p><p>(For weeks, the make-up would spread across her face with every tear that fell. Still, every morning, she applied it, because she felt <em>beautiful, </em>and that, too, was an armor.)</p><p>Some days, the tears would consume her, her breath would shorten, and, in every corner, there would be a boy with a gentle smile, his Hufflepuff uniform slightly untucked.</p><p>Those days, she would climb on her broom, flying so high she could feel the cold in her <em>soul</em>. And only then, she <em>screamed</em>. She screamed with every bit of breath she had left, with anger, with sadness, with everything her tears could not tell.</p><p>And then she would get down, with a fierce, challenging, and determined gaze, she would walk to the Room of Requirement and curse every doll within her reach.</p><p>(Sometimes, the braver ones are not the ones who keep moving forward. Sometimes, the brave ones are those who, with tears staining their faces, would stand up, plant their feet, and say <strong><em>No</em></strong>.)</p>
<hr/><p>A Patronus, Harry told Hermione, was the smell of a new book in your hands, a warm butterbeer by your side. It was your friends walking beside you and Ron’s nervous smile when you hugged him. And there was and otter, swimming, and Hermione beamed.</p><p>A Patronus, Harry told Ron, was Ginny’s arms surrounding you at the end of second year, the diary destroyed. It was the first time you block a goal. It was opening yet another knitted jumper on Christmas, and your startled surprise at the sight of Hermione punching Draco in the face. And there was a dog, chasing the otter, and Ron laughed.</p><p>A Patronus, Harry told Luna, was the rain falling gently on your skin, the breeze flying through your hair. It was the feeling of the earth under your bare feet, the snout of a Thestral against your hand. It was the magic your mother used to do, something singing in your soul at seeing the impossible. And there was a hare, jumping and Luna shined.</p><p>A Patronus, Harry told Cho, was Marrieta making funny faces in the middle of an exam. It was Cedric’s arms around your waist at the Yule Ball, your smiles brighter than any star. And there was swan, sliding, and Cho cried.</p><p> A Patronus, Harry told Seamus, was Dean’s mischievous smile before a well-made explosion. It was the gunpowder, blossoming into beautiful figures in the night sky. It was the wind that ran through your body when you got on a broom. And there was a fox, running, and Seamus smirked.</p><p>A Patronus, Harry told Ginny, was the speed of the broom underneath your hand, the ground blurry at your feet. It was laughing and dancing until your feet hurt and the tears ran down your cheeks. It was Bill’s indulgent smile, Charlie’s laughter, Percy’s feigned irritation, Ron’s exclamations, your mother’s stern eyes and your father’s amused gaze after one of the twin’s pranks. And there was a horse, flying, and Ginny grinned.</p><p>A Patronus, Harry thought, was that weird feeling that lived in his chest when the Room of Requirement glowed silver, speaking of times when the world was golden.</p>
<hr/><p>Marietta Edgecome walked through the familiar corridors, her gaze low (her hands trembled, her feet begging her to turn, her <em>magic </em>shrinking in protest).</p><p>She raised her hand (the same hand where Harry would always have words engraved. The same hand that had learned so many spells from a green-eyed boy) and didn’t hesitate before knocking the door.</p><p>“Come in, dear.” Umbridge’s squeaky voice called. She twisted the doorknob, walking on steady feet (She buried her hands deep in her pockets where, perhaps, no one would notice their tremor).</p><p>“Yes? Do you need something?” Marietta opened her mouth, ready to talk, but the words seemed impossible to speak. There was a knot in her throat.</p><p>The Room of Requirement had turned into her (<em>their</em>) home. Where she had made friends, had learned spells, had fought and laughed. The only safe place in the castle for those who had defied the Ministry’s venom.</p><p>(She remembered them. Cho, her gaze present for the first time in the year, one of her now rare smiles adorning her face. Dennis Creevy, still so excited for every piece of magic he witnessed. Lavender Brown, combing her hair gently, the latest gossip on her lips. Fred and George Weasley, trying a new product every session.)</p><p>(<em>Harry Potter, guiding her hand in a spell that, in the future, would save her life.</em>)</p><p>“The groups you’re looking for…” She forced the words out of her mouth, her hands clenched tightly.</p><p>Dolores Umbridge, who less than a week ago had threatened to completely destroy her mother’s career, leaned forward, her smile malicious.</p><p>(She also remembered her mother. Telling her stories every night, braiding her hair, smiling at her with <em>love</em>. She remembered her gentle embrace, surrounding her small body. She remembered her lips against her forehead.)</p><p>(She remembered last summer, where, as the days went by, she became more frantic, worried, because they were firing all the muggle-born from the ministry. How every owl had become a possibility of homelessness. She remembered her mother, saving every knut, for she was sure she would be the next one.)</p><p>“I know where they are,” she continued. Inside, she asked for forgiveness.</p><p>(And when, the next morning, the word “snake” appeared on her forehead, she didn’t have the strength to feel any resentment.)</p><p>(Only when every member’s eyes rested on her, hurt, betrayed, angry, did she shrink her shoulders, trying to stop the tears that wanted to sprout.)</p><p>(<em>And only on the inside+, would she admit that her General’s cold green eyes hurt more than any curse.</em>)</p><p>By the end of her fifth year, her mother would still have a job.</p><p>(<em>By the end of her sixth year, they would both be running</em>)</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>“Heroism doesn’t always happen in a burst of glory. Sometimes small triumphs and large hearts change the course of history.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>-Mary Roach </strong>
</p>
<hr/><p>Dumbledore was dead. Harry, Hermione and Ron were trying to end the war. The Order of the Phoenix didn’t exist anymore. And Neville…</p><p>Neville rose amid the welcoming feast, his back straight, proud, and rejected the new order. It’s the first cruciatus of the year. (Harry. Harry was the one who <em>screamed</em> the truth. Who would keep walking regardless of any obstacle. Who took a small group of children and turned them into <em>warriors</em>. But Harry was <strong><em>gone.</em></strong> So, in his place, Neville rose, his hands shaking slightly, and <strong>refused </strong>to turn into a death eater.)</p><p>They were within Hogwarts’ walls, the safest place in England. They were within Hogwarts’ walls, where the war hit the strongest.</p><p>During the day, Neville planted himself like a tree in the face of any curse aimed at a vulnerable child. He roared like a <em>lion</em> and suffered the consequences. Day after day, the wounds began to build up in his body. (At night, Ginny snuck into the boy’s dorms. Three empty beds would greet her. Together, they would listen to the Weasleys reciting the list of dead and missing. Only when the tremor in his hands was impossible to ignore, would Ginny hold them, cradling them against her chest, as if they were the most precious things in Hogwarts).</p><p>And when the hallways became too dangerous for some, Neville opened the door to the Room of Requirement, Ginny on his right, Luna on his left, and a group of vulnerable children behind him.</p><p>(Walking through the hallways, still limping from the last curse, his fists clenched, his back straight, his eyes determined, he gave <em>hope</em> to the terrified children (<em>survivors</em>)).</p>
<hr/><p>In her first year, Ginny Weasley knew darkness. She felt it as her soul was <em>consumed</em> by a memory. (Sometimes, when the rage burned her heart, she wondered if, perhaps, she may never recover the lost parts.)</p><p>Hidden memories, red blood on her hands and a diary always against her chest. She remembered the <em>fear</em> she felt every morning and how Tom was her only consolation. (And Ginny would never admit it, but Tom, who was the first to remark on her beauty, who listened for hours, who always had gentle words in response, was her Prince Charming for the first six months in Hogwarts.)( And then the petrifications worsened. <em>Her uniform was stained by another’s blood. Her hand trembled with every letter she wrote, and <strong>Tom’s</strong> words became poisonous</em>.) (Years later, she would still hear his soft voice in her mind. In those days, Ginny would grab her hair roughly, bury her face between her legs and <strong>scream</strong>, because Ginny Weasley <strong>refused</strong> to be controlled again. She would <em>die </em>before allowing someone else to use her body again.)</p><p>In the Chamber of Secrets, she woke up, a destroyed diary by her side, and the body of a giant snake as the only proof of what had occurred. And Harry, with too ancient eyes for a child his age, did not smile, and did not explain. And Ginny…Ginny didn’t ask. Because, she could see him <em>begging</em> for help, but she was child, and she had her own demons, her own memories. Because she was eleven years old and didn’t even know how to push <em>herself</em> forward.</p><p>Still, the years go on. Ginny grew up, her eyes fierce, her hair reflecting hell, her posture tense. Because Ginny was a soldier since her first year, because Ginny felt his cold fingers on her <em>soul</em>, and she, unlike so many others, understood the <em>horror</em> that Lord Voldemort could bring.</p><p>So when in her sixth year the death eater roamed the castle, throwing curses at anything that moves, Ginny didn’t bend down to comfort the little ones. She didn’t hug them until their fears faded, she didn’t hold their hand, assuring them everything will be alright. No. Ginny stood in front of them, her wand raised, her gaze hard, and she <strong><em>fought</em></strong>.</p><p>(Because Ginny Weasley was not her mother. She didn’t know how to be compassionate to everyone that needed it. But she knew what it was like to be <em>scared</em>, knew what it meant to drown in your own fear.)</p><p>(<em>She knew what it was like to think no one would help her</em>.)</p><p>Ginny lost her compassion in her first year, a diary with gentle words and malevolent ideas had stolen it before it could flourish, but she would <em>fight</em> for anyone who needed it.</p>
<hr/><p>Ernie MacMillan was a pure-blood. That, at that Hogwarts, meant he was good enough to be allowed to study. Still, he could see the mocking face of the Death Eaters, who barely cursed him, because he was a <em>Hufflepuff</em>, and that, there, meant<em> weak, cowardly, foolish</em>.</p><p>And Ernie, unlike other years, did not puff his chest out, proud of his house. No. Ernie bowed his head, shrunk his shoulders and moved from everyone’s way. Ernie watched from afar as the oldest ones stood between the cruel curses and hexes, how the smallest one would huddle in the corners, protecting themselves in numbers.</p><p>He crossed his arms, leaned against a wall, and kept his silence.</p><p>(And when those who weren’t safe in the castle anymore had to be slipped away, it was Ernie who hid them, who took them to safety, who was the last friendly face they saw before the grand doors of the room closed.)</p><p>
  <em>(When his General traveled through England finding Horcruxes, when the lieutenants had to hide in the Room of Requirement, when the hallways became too dangerous for the lions and the eagles, Ernie MacMillan passed the messages, snuck through darkened corridors, and hid in plain sight.) </em>
</p><p>(When the Carrows tripped against plain air, when the heavy pranks fell against Snape, when the hexes struck those who dared torture the younger ones, they exclaimed in fury against <em>Neville Longbottom, Ginerva Weasley, Luna Lovegood.</em> And Ernie MacMillan, with his bowed head and shrunken shoulders, would <em>smile</em>.)</p>
<hr/><p>And just as it would in the history books, Slytherin house would get a small mention in the soldier’s anecdotes.</p><p>Because the Slytherins thought first of their own survival, their pain, their future.</p><p>(Because Slytherins knew that, if they fought the Death Eaters, there would be familiar faces under the masks. Friends, uncles, cousins, siblings, parents, who wouldn’t hesitate more than a second before killing them, because that was a mercy compared to what the dark lord would have done.) </p><p>Because the Slytherins didn’t save anyone with acts of courage, infinite loyalty or insatiable knowledge.</p><p>(Because when the Carrows yelled in fury for every student that manage to escape their grasp, no one mentioned the room they had march to under Umbridge.)</p><p>(Because when Draco Malfoy encountered Neville Longbottom when he was trying to sneak a half-blood Ravenclaw to safety, he kept walking, ignoring the pair completely, and reported nothing unusual at the end of his shift.)</p><p>(Because when the elves started bringing healing books, no one questioned the “<em>Greengrass</em>” surname written on the first page.)</p><p>(Because only when the doors of their common room closed, assuring them of their solitude, would the sobs resonate in the dungeons as they did in the rest of the school.)</p><p>(<em>Because all the first years would spend hours cleaning cauldrons in the headmaster’s office, in a way that, when they finally made it back to their common room, their tired muscles could almost reflect the effects of the cruciatus.)</em></p><p>Because Slytherins were never heroes.</p><p>(Or, at least, they weren’t while the eyes of the world were upon them.)</p><p>But that was another story.</p>
<hr/><p>Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. One was never without the other, friends since the first gossip of the year was shared with childish giggles.</p><p>Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Who, between laughter and blushes, listened carefully to the words hidden among a sphere of divination, their hands intertwined, their shoulders joined, their eyes shining with emotion.</p><p>Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Creating a dance only for them, where one attacked and the other defended, their General’s advised surrounding them, their bodies in perfect synchronicity.</p><p>Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Both pure-blooded, passing messages, interrupting torture sessions, fleeing through the hallways of what was once their home.</p><p>Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Standing in front of the castle, preparing for the last battle, back to back, as fierce as the symbol of their house. </p><p>Lavander Brown and Parvati Patil. The body of one shattered by a werewolf: her beautiful honey hair stained with blood. The other one, cradling what was once her best friend, tears falling down her face, knowing she had to get up, she had to go back, because the war was not over. (But somehow, it felt like a part of her <em>world</em> was over.)</p><p>Parvati Patil. Attending countless funerals, her sister by her side (the one she had left).</p><p>Parvati Patil. With her wand in hand, walking into the Auror’s office for the first time, two months after the last battle, ready for her training.</p><p>Parvati Patil. Learning to move on.</p><p>Parvati Patil. Building her own family (Her husband and a set of twins, Lavender and Rosemary).</p><p>Parvati Patil. Living her life.</p><p>(<em>Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Their graves next to each other, and on the other side, their spirit laughed between gossip and adventures.)</em></p>
<hr/><p>Katie Bell graduated Hogwarts the year Albus Dumbledore died. She was part of the last generation that didn’t suffer under the wands of their teachers. She was part of the first generation that went into the world when Lord Voldemort took control of the ministry.</p><p>But Katie Bell was a half-blood. That meant, in that world, that she had a right to work, had the right to own a wand, had the right to <em>live</em>. (Not like Alicia Spinnet, who would hide on her friend’s basement, a hand always over an enchanted galleon that had given her the skills to survive the war).</p><p>Katie Bell worked as an assistant on the team Oliver Wood had joined. She watched as those players, talented and passionate, were replaced, because their blood wasn’t enough.</p><p>(“This is not Quidditch,” Oliver murmured, his fists clenched, his expression dropped.</p><p>“We only have to wait for our seeker to catch the snitch,” she had replied, her eyes on the sky. She felt guilty, leaving all her hopes in the shoulders of a young man whom fate had condemned, but, at that point, he was the only ray of hope she had left.</p><p>Oliver gave her a look of reproach but didn’t bother denying it it.)</p><p>Katie Bell didn’t know what was going on at Hogwarts. Didn’t know about the curses that flew on the hallways, of the tortures, and of those who chose to fight.</p><p>No. Katie Bell went to work every morning, watched the destruction of a sport she loved, had a couple shots with Oliver, and went back home. Katie Bell, even during Voldemort’s regime, had a quiet life.</p><p>Yet when she felt the heat from her galleon in the middle of a training session, she didn’t hesitate for even a second to answer the call of war.</p><p>She turned on her heels, discreetly going to the men’s changing room, where Oliver was preparing for training.</p><p>She took the galleon out of her pocket, placing it on the player’s open palm. (Oliver needed no explanation, for it was he who had listened to her drunken rambling, who had covered for her when she visited the twins, who waited for his seeker as much as Katie waited for her General.)</p><p>And by the time someone on the team noticed their absence, Oliver and Katie would be flying towards Hogwarts, where a battle would welcome them.</p>
<hr/><p>And an ancient castle, where thousands of wizards and witches had trained, was the site of the final battle.</p><p>Where the statues, armors, and stairs joined the fight, because Hogwarts defended <em>his own</em>. (Walls collapsing without reason, obstructing the Death Eaters’ paths towards the little ones) (The armors marching over the bridge, their swords aloft, ready to defend the souls behind them).</p><p>Where the ghosts and elves attracted as much fire as possible. Where the portraits became messengers, running from one side of the castle to the other, because they were the <em>only ones </em>who <em>survived</em> the journey.</p><p>Where children, terrified, raised their wands against those who had tried to harm them.</p><p>Where those who played Quidditch took their brooms and rose in the air, using the skills a game had taught them to <em>save lives</em>. Where the most curious ones cast every spell that had ever passed through their heads. Where the loyal ones <em>pushed</em> anyone who stood in their way, and <em>dragged</em> the wounded to safety. Where the ambitious ones pointed their wands at those they loved, for there were children behind them. Where the brave ones threw themselves into the center of every fight, their movements desperate.</p><p>Where the army Harry had trained was the first to defend their home.</p><p>Where Lavender Brown gave her last breath.</p><p>Where Fred Weasley laughed for the last time.</p><p>Where Colin Creevey cast his last spell.</p><p>Where hundreds of students, whose names would be forgotten in history, lost their lives so that others could live on.</p>
<hr/><p>And after, when the bodies were buried, the trials were done and Hogwarts began to rebuild, the nightmares would still go on.</p><p>Some would wake up for the rest of their lives in the middle of the night, ready to run, hide, because if they catch them, <em>they</em> <em>will</em> <em>die</em>. Others would walk through Diagon Alley, tensely watching the innocent magic, because the last time they had seen so many spells, they were <em>curses</em> aimed at innocent <em>children</em>.</p><p>Many would turn their heads, a smile on their lips, ready to tell a new story to the person who had always been besides them, and the words would die on their mouth when nothing but empty space greeted them.</p><p>But they would all move on. They would build their own families and, one day, they would take their children to the Hogwarts station, ready to send them on their next adventure.</p>
<hr/><p>“I’m sorry,” Harry would murmur, when only he and Neville remained in the room, both looking at the picture of their parents hanging in the mirror.</p><p>(I’m sorry I couldn’t save you all. I’m sorry for the suffering. I’m sorry for not being enough)</p><p>“Thank you, Harry,” Neville would answer, a sigh on his lips.</p><p>(Thank you for teaching us to survive. Thank you for not giving up. Thank you for never letting us fall down.)</p>
<hr/><p>
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    <em>"Older men declare war. But it is youth that must fight and die."</em>
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    <em>-Herbert Hoover</em>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay, first of all, I have to give credit to the inspiration of the story. I don’t know if the user actually exists or not, but the Patronus paragraph was inspired by an image of a short story of “Thatsadifferentstory” on Tumblr, where Harry teachs the Patronus. I did change some phrases, but the original idea of that is from her/he/them.</p><p>I hope you liked the story!! My love and gratitude to the always wonderful BabyGenius, who somehow manage to get this into one tense. </p><p>If you like (or if you didn’t like) the story, please do comment, kudos, etc. I love hearing your opinions on it &gt;.&lt;</p></blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30365214">[Podfic] Army</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingtysonsworld/pseuds/kingtysonsworld">kingtysonsworld</a>
    </li>
  </ul>
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